Thad
by Tormentor488
Summary: My spin on what would happen if Curly's life was complicated by medication, his father's career, and the absence of Rhonda.
1. Chapter 1

One week ago today, I'd officially been expelled from P.S. 118. We can get to the details later.

As things stand at this moment, my head is in a flurry. Where do I begin?

My parents want me to start taking medication and seeing a counselor. Okay, fair game. That was probably past due anyway. I'm aware I can be a bit… Erratic. Fine, no big deal. I could possibly even stomach the thought of being expelled from school. Granted, it's where I primarily see Rhonda. It's not like I wouldn't get to see my darling at all. I'd see her around town. We'd encounter each other through mutual friends. Sure. I could make that work. But that isn't the end of it. Things are much more dire than that.

My family would be moving in a few week's time. It was something I'd been aware of for a year or two, but it always seemed to be on the horizon. I never thought the day would come to fruition. But my father's quarterly report was stellar. Fantastic. Great. Too great. We'd be re-locating for his promotion. I'd heard whispers late at night of three figures.

This meant two things. One of which I immediately figured out on my own, and one of which he informed me: I was going to be placed in a private school, and I could no longer see Rhonda. Everything else was fine. Like I said before, I could handle expulsion, therapy, pills, all of it. But I can't get by without Rhonda. Even now, I know that.

If I seem more level than usual, you can chalk it up to the meds they've started me on. A cocktail of antidepressants and ADHD drugs. Truth be told, I don't entirely despise them. I feel strangely clear-headed, if somewhat emotionally stunted.

Ordinarily, I'd plot something. I wouldn't leave this town without a fight. I could run away. Rhonda could come with me. Something that would seem perfectly logical without these pills. But my train of thought is disturbingly focused and linear now. I can poke holes in schemes I'd previously thought were genius, and it scared me, honestly. It worried me how delusional I may have really been.

And it makes me wonder if this me is more valid than the old me. That's when the panic crept in. It was probably also a side-effect of just starting the medication, but it was rooted in very real fears. The only thing keeping me grounded was the thought I had a few weeks left. It would give me an opportunity to prepare for the hell that awaited me.

It could be mitigated, but it would require Rhonda's cooperation. I'd talk to her after school one of these days. It wouldn't be hard. I'd explain the circumstances to her. Ask her for her cell phone number. See if she has a Skype. We could remain in contact, and even if it weren't physical, I could get by on that. Just her voice could even me out.

I'm working hard to extinguish all of my negative thoughts, because I'm not sure I can survive if I don't. And yet... This newfound "logic" I'd acquired wracked at me. It battered my emotions with all the awful things I knew but didn't want to acknowledge. It was easier when my mind was scattered and all was aflutter with Ms. Wellington-Lloyd exclusively. It was easier.

Yet a voice hissed whenever those thoughts stirred: "She didn't love you, Curly." No. That was what I couldn't face. Even examining it now made my hands shake. My heart keeps skipping every few beats, and my stomach is doing flips.

I'd drink to get rid of this cotton mouth, if I could stomach even water. I haven't eaten since the third day I was put on meds. That was two days ago. I have to eat soon, or I really might faint. Sleep hasn't come easily, either. Mostly fevered dreams of Rhonda being taken from me. Another avenue I don't care to explore in-depth.

So, why do I continue? I'm not necessarily certain myself. Maybe it's the thought of becoming Curly again frightens me. Maybe I'm afraid of becoming what I fear she might not love. Maybe I can become someone she'd want.

And I circle back to wondering if this is real, or this is the dream. And maybe old Curly is the reality. I have a feeling I won't really know until I confront Rhonda again. Another idea that only served to further heighten my anxiety.

I haven't talked to her at all since the incident. And, while I wanted to, I feared what awaited me. The usual unrelenting love that clouded my view of consequences was gone. I knew there might be problems now. That there probably WOULD be. I'd have to apologize to her.

I keep twitching. I'm not sure if I could keep it together in front of her, much less if I could show up unannounced to begin with. I'd have to find a way, though. We leave in a few weeks. Things are already being packed. I was finally being given permission to leave the house unattended since the play.

The Phantom of the Opera incident. Which, dear reader, you'll get the juicy details to shortly.

I'll see her tomorrow, and all of this will get sorted out. One way or another. It's the only thing I can tell myself to keep from screaming.


	2. Chapter 2

_"What's he got there in his hand?" It was Wartz. He'd be wary of me ever since the dodgeball incident. Which was laughable, since I wasn't the one at fault. That stooge Simmons tried to con me out of my rightly deserved ball monitor duties and all the respect it demanded. But that's a tale for another day._

 _"Curly, what are you doing?! Are you insane?!" Ah, my sweet, sweet Rhonda. Even when visibly shaken, she never fails to stir my feelings. Her fear was understandable. But I was merely bluffing. I wasn't that crazy. The only part that bothered me was she seemed to believe I'd really hurt someone._

 _"Curly- Mr. Gammelthorpe!" I could hear Wartz trying to reason through the torrent of panicked cries. They echoed through the auditorium like wailing spirits. Slews of people were heading for the doors. I could even see Simmons trying to defuse the calamity. I snickered a little to myself. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still a bit irate from the injustice involving him._

 _"The phantom of the opera is there!" I sang as I waved the squirtgun around with glee. The paint job seemed to do the trick. They thought I was really armed. Perfect."Inside! My mind!" I'd never known this kind of power before. I thought the authority of ball monitor was a big deal. But one flimsy imitation of a real gun and everyone flies into a panic. My plan couldn't fail..._

I awoke in a cold sweat. I'd finally managed to get some sleep, but it was broken and lousy. Not to mention interspersed with dreams relating to the events of _that day._ The longer I was on my medication, or the longer it had been, anyway, I was haunted more by what I did.

Why did I think abducting Rhonda was a good idea?

I was twitching again. Enough of this nonsense. If I dwell on it, I won't be able to work up the courage to see her. Fortunately, I'd slept well enough into the day that I could arrive shortly after school ends. As long as I leave soon, anyway.

I slunk out of bed, my legs weak and rubbery from the recent lack of food. I'd have to choke something down before I leave. I studied my face in the mirror. It actually required me to take off my glasses. While I still needed them to read, I found my vision was getting better all the time. In fact, my eyes were slightly better without my lenses now. I still wore them most of the time out of habit, though.

My cheeks were a little sunken in. The bags under my eyes didn't look good, either. They looked sunken in. I was never a big guy to begin with, but everything looked thinner and frailer. Even my hands seemed gaunt and bony. Looking at them creeped me out, especially the way they shook. I was paler than my grandpa. All from hunger and anxiety.

I stuffed my hands into my pockets.

It wasn't any real wonder everyone was staring at me and jawing about my presence as they passed. It had been eight days since I even set foot near P.S. 118. By now, most everyone had heard my stint was a hoax, and I wasn't a real threat. Even so, fearful anger lingered on their expressions with every glance. A few kids actually ran. Like I might be plotting my next act of revenge.

It wasn't just my hands now. I was trembling all over.

 _Yeah, you morons. I came back to get even._ I tried to laugh to myself about it. Like it was a gag, so maybe I'd stop tweaking out.

No such luck.

"Whatever, fine. No big deal." I muttered under my breath. Careful not to say anything too loudly. Or they might really think I'm psycho.

It was then that my heart caught like a lump in my throat. What the hell? It was Harold, and he was walking out of the school with Rhonda. They were laughing about something. Until he noticed me. What was he, her bodyguard?

"Curly?" He was approaching me now, anger growing with every step. "What're you doing here? Up to no good? I ought'a clobber you!" He was right up in my face now. And the tremors were getting worse.

"I just wanna talk to Rhonda." I faked a stretch to seem like I was relaxed. My nerves were never like this before.

"Tough luck, buster, you're the last person she wants to talk to after what you pulled. Now get outta here before I clock you." I wasn't afraid of Harold, but Christ. I was practically shivering. Rhonda stood a few feet behind him, eying me cautiously. The fear was there, but none of the anger I traced from the other kids. She really _was_ afraid of me.

Oh no. Not good, not good. I could feel my stomach lurching again. It was worse now, though.

"C'mon, man." Was I really saying that? It didn't sound like something I'd say at all. And it was so weak. Like the words broke as soon as they touched air.

"I juh- just-" Fuck. Come ON, Curly. Stuttering? "I JUST. I just. Want to have a few words with her." I managed to stop shaking, but I noticed I was holding my right arm really hard. Like I was bracing myself. Harold probably thought he had me petrified with fear, that lumbering dolt. But that wasn't it at all. I was looking over his shoulder the whole time. Right at Rhonda. Who alternated between looking at me and looking at the ground. She wore a different expression now. It was an agitated indifference.

"Stand aside, Harold." She put a hand on his shoulder. "If he wants to talk, fine. I'll be with you shortly. As soon as I get this over with." Normally, I feel like I would have overlooked that comment. My confidence really was waning. I wasn't so sure she loved me anymore. And the way she looked at him. The way they smiled at each other before he went to wait for her by the buses.

Oh no. No. No.

"What?" She hissed under her breath. I'd heard her ask me that same question in the same tone a thousand times before. But it seemed like it was only now I could feel the venom. How dense was I? Am I valid? Am I the real Curly? Am I Curly at all? Am I right? Or was he?

I had a million things I wanted her to tell me. But I couldn't afford to freak out. I seemed to be able to hold still as long as I kept bracing myself. It would have to do.

"Rhonda, how the heck are ya?" I smiled wide despite the sour pain twisting in my stomach.

"Spit out whatever you have to say to me and then go away. I don't appreciate the stunt you pulled, buddy, and I don't much care if I ever see you again."

"Ah, yeah. About that. I wanted to, uh. Apologize." It didn't feel quite right saying it. I was just following my heart when I did it. She was supposed to feel the same way. It made me kind of angry to admit I'd done something wrong when I was just trying to strengthen our bond. And yet, earlier I had thought trying to kidnap her was ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as she seemed to think it was now.

"It's way too late for any of that." She was seething now. "An apology? That's all? And a lousy one at that."

"Well, Rhonda-"

"No, you listen to me, you little freak. I've stuck my neck out for you dozens of times. I've forgiven you before for all of your harassment. I've even tried to be your friend. And you stomp all over everything I try to do for you by pulling outrageous stunts and harassing me! Sometimes even physically!" She began to poke at my chest with an accusatory finger. In the past, none of the things she was saying now would have gotten to me. I would have flirted. I would have told her she was cute when she was fuming, which she was. But my hands were rattling in my pockets.

"Rhonda, I'm moving out of town." I blurted it out almost in one word. Her expression shifted for a moment, before returning to a more mild anger.

"What are you on about, you dweeb?"

"My dad got a promotion. It means I'm moving away, Rhonda." I could feel myself getting frantic. I had to fight to keep my voice down. "I got expelled, anyway. I don't- I wasn't sure if you heard or not."

"Why are you telling me this?" She still sounded angry, but it seemed different. Forced, somehow.

"Rhonda, I don't want to go any length of time without you." I couldn't really help myself at this point. She knew how I felt anyway. It couldn't hurt to be honest.

"Curly," she sighed and shifted away from me. She was looking at Harold. I couldn't see him, but I knew she was looking his way.

"Rhonda, I want to talk to you even after I leave. Your E-mail. Your phone number-"

"Is this all another plan?"

It was like being punched in the gut.

"What?"

"To keep pestering me. Were you really expelled? I could probably buy that. But you're moving? That seems like you're just laying it on pretty thick. Did you come here to get me to pity you? Is that why you've been faking all the shaking you've been doing? And why you look so sick? I actually DID feel bad when I saw you at first. You look awful. What's your game?"

With every word, I could feel my chest seizing up. It was like I couldn't draw a full breath. Is this what a panic attack is like? My episode wasn't escaping her attention, either.

"If you are just faking all this, knock it off. You're creeping me out."

"I'm not. Rhonda, really-"

"Rhonda, we gotta go! The buses are almost ready to leave!" It was Harold. I didn't even look his way.

"Just a second!" She replied, then returning the stare to me. "Well?"

"Huh?"

"Are you finished? Can I leave?"

"Rhonda, I'm not kidding!" The world was spinning now. I grabbed her wrist just to keep everything steady. "You don't seem to understand how bad this! I'm going away for good, and you can't even stop worrying about when the bus leaves!"

"Let her go, Curly!" I could hear that fool Harold lumbering toward us. He wouldn't take her from me without a fight.

"Get back, fat boy!" All I had to threaten him with was a pointed index finger. His doughy hands snatched my wrist and he peeled me off her in an instant.

"You slime!" He wasn't letting go of my arm. And I still felt so dizzy. I could hear Rhonda's footsteps. She was disappearing somewhere. Probably to get someone.

"Rhon- oof!" Harold planted his fist generously in my stomach. The wind was instantly knocked from my sails, and I sunk on my already weak knees.

"I'm warning you!" My voice was barely a whisper as I choke for air. "I'm warning you, Harold!" He was jerking me around like a ragdoll. Like he didn't want to hit me anymore, but he couldn't decide what to do with me.

I could hear Wartz' voice emerging from the school entrance. Rhonda was with him. In what felt like an instant and an eternity, Harold handed me over to Wartz like I was a rabid cat. He was much stronger than Harold.

"Back to cause more mayhem, eh? Well, young man, you can cause all the ruckus your heart desires. In my office. You can bet your parents are being notified of this."

"Let me go, you idiot!" His grip was like a vice crushing my wrist. His hands were white hot and dry against my skin. He smelled like old cologne.

"Rhonda! Rhonda, wait!" And she disappeared from view once I was yanked inside the school.

I wish I could tell you there was a more satisfying conclusion to our departure. I wish we could have kept in touch. I wish I could tell you we parted amicably, at least. But she made her feelings clear to me. And I think I snapped one final time.

Somewhere between the entrance of the school and Wartz' office, "Curly" died.


	3. Chapter 3

Home.

After a long, tortuous few hours. I was home.

My parents were furious with me and tired of my "episodes". But they didn't understand. None of them did. Not Wartz, not Harold, not Simmons or even Rhonda herself.

Rhonda.

No more.

I ascended the stairs silently to my room, which was where I was to remain until we moved. Fine. Okey-dokey. Perfectly swell with me. That's what I want now more than anything.

Solitude.

I closed the door quietly behind me. The first thing I did was locate my scissors. I held the cold edge to my skin.

Too cliché.

I cut my shirt instead. A jagged, furious line at first. But the more I cut, the more clinical and precise it became. After three or four full lines, the cloth sagged off my torso. But I continued to cut. To cleave and cleanse and kill. Until only scraps remained. I moved on to my shorts. All until nothing but a pile of mismatched scraps lay at my feet. It was oddly cathartic. Satisfying, even. I wasn't shaking anymore. I looked at myself in the mirror.

Frail. Pale. Small. Skinny. Ribs exposed. Bulbous nose. It was like a chorus in my head. I processed these things, yet there were no words. I was like an animal. Feasting on the remains of whatever just died.

The late Curly.

Curly. The name seemed ancient, somehow. Almost like some nonsense Latin. An obsolete phrase from an archaic tome.

I hated the bowl on my head, I realized now. So I started to snip at it. Not rhyme or reason. No measurement or care. I snipped whatever I could grab. I cut and cut and every severed tie felt better than the last. Every tether that snapped sent me spiraling farther from Rhonda.

Rhonda.

It was all losing meaning. And I was exhilarated by it. It might as well have been a story penned a thousand years ago. Characters from a story nobody remembered.

Once I'd finished snipping- and only the barest of hair remained- I took my glasses off. I stared at my reflection in the lenses for a long time. Even now, I don't know if it was minutes or hours that passed in that time. It seemed more honest than what I saw in the mirror, somehow. A tired, young face. A face that seemed beaten somehow. Broken and raw. A hungry face. A face that was nourished by its decaying shell.

I cracked the lenses in my hands. I began to twist the frames. There was more resistance than I expected, but it was still relatively easy to warp the structure. An abstract caricature of itself. A work of art. One I would only admire for tonight. My hands were cut in a few places, but I didn't mind. It felt just as exposed as the rest of me. It was like every nerve was open and fresh. It was like being born again.

I slept nude that night. Curled beneath the sheets. I woke up totally refreshed for the first time.


	4. Chapter 4

That day was nearly eight years ago now. Honestly, I didn't think of it much anymore. Over the years, Rhonda had faded into the back of my mind without much effort. Sure, there were still times she came to mind, but those instances grew fewer and farther between as the years passed.

Ever since that night, the night I gave "Curly" up entirely, it was really like becoming a new person. I slowly started to get my act together. Gradually and systematically destroying all of my old habits and adopting new ones. In the weeks prior to my move, I decided I wasn't going to be the psycho at my new private school. I wasn't going to be a dork, either.

The first thing I did once I was given a tour of the new school was to ask if there was an exercise room. There was, only it was better than that. I didn't think there would be weights. Barbells, dumbbells, pullup bars and dip stations- I didn't even know the names of these things when I first saw them. At first, I just wanted to adopt a healthier lifestyle. But I saw power again in all the cast iron laid out before me. Power that wasn't acquired through fear or some joker like Simmons. I had the tools at my disposal to sculpt my body.

And that's exactly what I did. The first year was the hardest. Initially, I was barely able to bench press a bar. I was constantly weak from lifting every day. I attacked the weights daily with resentment I had for Rhonda. With anger I had for Harold and Wartz for physically humiliating me. The problem was, I wasn't making much progress. That wasn't until a few of the preppier guys noticed my passion.

"Thaddeus?" It was a tall boy. He had dark, wavy hair and a lean build. We were only ten at this time, but he seemed a few years older than that.

"Thad. You can call me Thad." I wasn't really the "new kid" at this point anymore. Not that anyone ever gave me a hard time about it to begin with. Still, I wasn't exactly well known yet. No, that wouldn't come until later.

I was loading two measly plates onto the bar, preparing for my bench press when he approached me.

"I see you're interested in weightlifting. That's really cool. You know, me and the guys," he motioned over to a few other kids. "like to lift, too. We know quite a bit about it, if you ever need pointers. Or if you need spotters. We know a lot about nutrition, too, if you ever have any questions. You seem like a dedicated guy. Just thought I'd mention it."

I didn't know it at the time, but that day singlehandedly set everything into motion for me. Half of what I was doing wrong was eating improperly. I began to consume a protein-rich diet. And I was instructed to take rest days instead of going all-out every day. After implementing these changes, it was only a few weeks and my strength had nearly doubled. Sure, I was only benching maybe 100 pounds, but I was also only about 11 years old. I was starting to fill out nicely. The extra muscle was especially welcome since I'd begun a growth spurt. Where I was once 4'11", I was now 5'5".

But that was only half of what changed the day Robbie- that was the guy's name- introduced himself to me. It started out that we were acquaintances who met in the weight room. Before long, we were lifting partners. Maybe a week after that, we'd become genuine friends. And, by association, I'd become friends with his friends.

Now, Robbie wasn't the coolest guy in school, but he wasn't a nerd. People liked Robbie. They respected Robbie. He was a smart guy, too. I envied the ease with which he seemed he could move in and out of social cliques. He seemed like he could blend into whatever was around him. A chameleon. He knew when to laugh, when to be serious, and when to tell a joke.

In time, I copied this ability.

Robbie was also a sharp dresser, even from a young age. It wasn't until I was 13 that we began to shop together. He had an eye that would have made Rhonda envious. My old wardrobe was gradually phased out. Filled with things only Robbie approved of. Now, you might be thinking I was his lap dog. Or that he was grooming me to be his sidekick or something. But then you wouldn't know him. No, he was looking out for me. And just like I learned to copy his ability to blend and adapt socially, I learned his sense of style. Understated, but fashionable. Distressed jeans. Polo shirts. Ralph Lauren button-ups. Salmon pinks and baby blues. Yeah, by the time I was 13, I was starting to come into who I am today. Curly was mostly gone by that time.

Around a year later and, wouldn't you know it, I had my first date. My first actual date with a girl who liked me and WASN'T Rhonda. Even more strangely was that she asked ME out. The cherry on top, the coup de grace, so to speak, was that SHE seemed nervous. I still remember the conversation at Robbie's house from that night. It was when I first noticed a metamorphosis of some kind was occurring. Beyond the designer jeans and $200 haircuts.

"She seemed nervous, Robbie. Nervous to ask ME out. What a joke, huh?" I was fiddling with my watch. It was more of a fashion statement than a tool used to tell time. I used my phone exclusively if I ever needed to know the hour.

"Why wouldn't she be?" He was lying on his bed and tossing a basketball up and down. He'd made the junior varsity team. "You're a real looker, Thad. Y'know? I have to admit, not so much when we first met, but these past few years have really changed you."

"You think so?" I wasn't paying much attention to him at the time. Oddly, I wasn't that nervous about the impending date. My anxious jitters seemed to subside a few years prior to this. Probably as a result of acclimating to my meds.

"If your looks continue to get better, I just might have some competition." He giggled to himself. Right. What a joke. Robbie wasn't exactly Teenage Heartthrob America, but he was dashing when he wanted to be. Certainly more attractive than I was.

Than I was.

That was three years ago, though. We were still practically kids. I'm seventeen now. And, at the risk of sounding vain, I think I finally had Robbie bested in the looks department. And he'd only improved over the years himself. You could say neither of us was short of our share of female admirers. I wasn't as interested or as flirtatious as Robbie, though. He usually raked it in on charm alone. I didn't usually turn mine on unless we had a competition going or something.

I finally decided to drag myself out of bed. It was quarter past eight. I had an open hour the first class of the day. Perks of taking extra courses early on. I didn't need to be at school for another hour.

I studied my body in my now-full-body-length mirror. I wasn't a ripped steroid freak like I intended to become when I was 9. No, I was much smarter than that now. I was muscular, but lean. Trim, but not too cut. Tan, but not disgustingly orange. Everything was in moderation. Subtle. Understated. Just like Robbie had taught me. And understated is always in.

Especially among the opposite sex.

I wore my hair messily and at a medium length. I never had to do much with it. Girls seemed to like it however I messed it up. Which was typically with a subdued spikiness.

Today, I decided to study my face again. Something I hadn't really, truly done since the day Rhonda betrayed me. I didn't quite have that voracious hunger anymore. Those haggard, desperate eyes I remembered so clearly were gone. A fine shadow of stubble dotted my face where a smooth, round chin used to be. My face had grown more slender and more masculine all at once.

It made me wonder. When did I finally finish feasting on Curly? Or was I still sucking his bones dry eight years later?

"Regardless." I whispered to the face in the mirror. "I appreciate it. Curly." Saying the name aloud felt strange. Like he was an old friend from a lifetime ago. In a sense, I suppose he was. Nearly half my life had passed since then. And nobody had referred to me as such since.

I had plenty of time for both a shower and breakfast. That's another thing you should know about me now. I have an appetite. And I eat very well. You'd be shocked to realize how much work goes into maintaining a lean and muscled build. I grazed all day long.

Thinking about my meal plan also got me thinking about the rest of the day. Chest and triceps day with Robbie. That would last about an hour. AP Lit. A PSEO course... Remedial Math. Hey, I'm not good at every subject, okay?

And then my dad wants to head to the Y for some father-son basketball. It had become our tradition a number of years ago. Our bi-weekly outing.

He also mentioned he'd have some news for me. Maybe I'd finally get my own car.


	5. Chapter 5

"Excellent shot, Thaddeus!" My father complimented me after draining a basket. We'd been playing basketball at the Y once a week every day for a few years now. Twice weekly since the recent Steph Curry craze, who both he and I were nuts about.

"Thank you, thank you." I bowed. "I accept payment in the form rare jewels."

Mostly, we just shot around. No real competition. Pretty lax. Today was one of those days. There were times we'd go one-on-one, or play against other father-son pairs. But the frequency was diminishing with his age. Despite working a cushy desk job, he joints weren't much to speak of anymore.

"You know, son," he began with a small twinkle in his eye. "your mother and I have been really proud of you these past couple years. There was a brief period of time we really worried about you, Thaddeus. But you really got your act together. You've been a sport about everything. Your medication, your therapy. Your grades are remarkable, too. I've never been prouder."

"Aw, shucks, ya big lug." I punched his arm playfully. Truth be told, it was meant to be a bit of a detractor from the subject. I always felt embarrassed and a little guilty whenever my parents mentioned, well.

Curly.

It had me curious, though. He usually only broke out the "We're so proud" speech when he had a big announcement relating to me. In the past, it led to a jet ski, a surprise trip to Italy, and courtside tickets to a game. My Pavlovian instinct purred: "New car."

"Son, I remember how devastated you were to leave Hillwood all those years ago."

"Oh, well. Huh?" I was studying his features carefully now. His face was like shifting sand. I couldn't discern any patterns or reason to get where this train was headed.

He just chuckled. "What I wanted to tell you is: I bought our old house back. I think of along the lines of a Summer home. What do you say, Thaddeus? You want to visit the old stomping ground again? Maybe see some of your old friends? Like that Arnold? Or, what was that young girl's name?"

Don't say it.

"Rhonda, I think it was." He snapped his fingers like he just came up with a million dollar pitch.

I felt that sensation again. I hadn't felt it in eight years. That feeling like my stomach was doing flips. Like bile was doing somersaults on a trampoline in my gut. I felt it maybe once in the intervening years. When my mom had a gallbladder attack.

"Gee, dad, I dunno. I mean, it's been so long. Most of the old gang might not be there anymore. Besides, wouldn't it be best to meet up with them again in school? If we go during the Summer-"

"Ah, I thought you might say that." The way his face brightened worried me. "There are a few months of junior year left. Your mother and I figured it'd be a great time to head on back. Maybe two weeks or so from today. You could catch up with your old pals and then spend the Summer with them." He offered while beaming. It was like he was trying to sell me on drinking a vial of arsenic. Who would be waiting for me? Wideload Harold? The corpse of Mr. Wartz? Mr. Simmons' bald spot?

But he seemed so enamored by the thought it was hard to say anything negative. Especially after everything he'd done for me. He paid for my clothes. My haircuts. Tanning sessions. Parties with Robbie and even the very rare bottle of aged wine. The only stipulation being I don't tell mom.

He was just trying to make me happy. That was the hardest part of it, I guess.

And why did I care so much? I wasn't Curly anymore. I wasn't pining after Rhonda anymore. She might not even BE in Hillwood anymore. Maybe I was making this a bigger deal than it needed to be.

Maybe I could go back and stuff it to a few of the jerkwads who gave me grief when I was a kid.

Whoa. Chill, Thad. Where did THAT come from?

"Daddy-O, that sounds swell. A blast. A real groovy time." I quipped in my trademark goofy fashion to play it off like I was as excited as he was.

He ruffled my hair and chuckled again. "That's the spirit! Now, we'd better be going. I promised your mother we'd go out to eat after you and I got our exercise in. You hungry?"

"Could eat a horse." I grinned. Truth be told, however, I was far from it.

I jogged over to collect the ball. It had rolled along the gym wall a ways after I shot it. I picked it up.

My hands were shaking.


	6. Chapter 6

**Rhonda.**

 **Eight years prior.**

How was it that even when I was right and justified, it was like Curly's side of everything was favored somehow?

It had been eight days since the incident at the play. Eight days since Curly attempted- and failed- to take me hostage as part of this grand love scheme he concocted. The creep was still clinging to this idea he could _force_ love on me instead of allowing it to happen organically. I tried to understand his side of it, despite him being totally in the wrong. I guess I could faintly see one facet of his desperation. I guess I would be pining for my attention too. But I'd never take it to the dizzying _lows_ that he did.

He had a gun. I mean, we all thought so, at first. The scariest part was that I totally bought it. We all did. Because, maybe even if he is pure deep inside, he's a total head case. He's the joker of our school's deck. Totally wild. You never knew what value he was going to be, but it was usually a number that meant trouble for you. He waved it around so carelessly. Even after I knew it was all a ruse, even after I knew his idea had virtually no hope of succeeding, even after everything he'd _already_ done...

I couldn't help but look at him differently now. There was anger, sure. There always was virtually any time he came to mind or showed his sleazy face around me. But not there was something else I couldn't quite place associated with him. A strange hollowness. Like I had given up on him somehow. And I was disappointed I'd have to. There was a brief period of time I thought naively that, just maybe, we could have moved past all the antics to be friends.

I guess he had different ideas.

I hadn't seen him at all since the night of the play. It wasn't even ten minutes- ten of the longest in my life- before Wartz and Simmons orchestrated together to get the gun away from him. Despite Wartz seeming to have it out for him, he seemed adamant not to allow the police to do anything that might have, well. Hurt Curly. Or worse.

I still remember the look on his face when he realized it was a water gun. The wave of relief and then intense anger. The same flux of emotions I'd felt myself a hundred thousand times since I'd known the pest. But it never came this time. Knowing the gun was a fake didn't do anything to pacify me. I'd always thought Curly was crazy, and I was able to live with that, somehow. Now, though? Now, different words were flooding my brain. And while I tried to defend him- sometimes even from my own thoughts- I couldn't stop these ones from forming.

Twisted.

Insane.

Psychopath.

Any one of them could be just a run-of-the-mill insult. But it was the conviction behind them that scared me. As strange as it was to think it, I realized- in some far off way- I considered Curly my friend.

And, like everything else, he even managed to screw that up for me.

If there was one good thing that came from all of this, it was Harold stepping up. We spent most of the following day of the incident hanging out together, and he was a perfect gentleman. Doing everything in his power to both ensure I was feeling okay, while also distracting me from Curly. Truth be told, in the days we'd spent together since, there were those rare and glorious moments Curly didn't exist. I only really began to worry after six days. He still hadn't returned to school. Was he suspended? For how long? Did they go far enough to expel him? Or was it something worse? Did he run away? Did he KILL himself?

I panicked at that thought. I needed Harold more than ever to calm me down at that time. He promised me he'd visit Curly's house the following day. To verify everything was okay. And, while I never heard the results of his meeting, the fact I knew he would go seemed to satisfy me. Everything was okay for the following day or two.

But then Curly showed up. Just right outside the school. He was leaning against the wall directly outside the entrance. The only thing that shocked me more than his arrival was his appearance.

He looked _horrible._ Like he hadn't eaten or slept in a week. His frame was the most skeletal I'd ever seen it. Knobs of bone were jutting awkwardly at every one of his joints, and the shirt he always wore hung on his torso like it was three sizes too big. He also kept fidgeting. Was he sick?

Harold walked over to him. Truth be told, I didn't listen to what Harold was saying to him. I was too busy studying Curly's body, while occasionally looking elsewhere. So maybe he wouldn't catch me looking.

"C'mon, man." I heard Curly say. It came out like a whimper, and I honestly didn't even know what they had been discussing.

"I juh- just- I JUST. I just. Want to have a few words with her." I'd never heard Curly stutter like that before. It almost seemed forced.

Faked. The word stuck my brain like a vicious bolt of lightning. He wouldn't, would he? Starve himself? Deprive himself of sleep? Fake tremors? Oh, but I knew the ugly reality of it. He'd do _anything_ to get on my good side. I was fuming now, but I held it inside. That rotten sneak. After all the grief he had put _me_ through. He had the NERVE to pull another stunt. That no-good dick. Well, Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd doesn't take anything lying down. I would let him have a piece of my mind.

"Stand aside, Harold." I rested my hand on his broad, powerful shoulder. It eased my nerves and quelled my anger, if only a bit. "If he wants to talk, fine. I'll be with you shortly. As soon as I get this over with." We exchanged smiles and that was all it took. He went to wait for me beside the buses.

I returned my attention to the lecherous, insane and unpleasant goblin in front of me. I couldn't believe the things he'd do just to get to me.

"What?" I practically spat. He seemed to tense up. There was a pause for a few moments, but I didn't take my eyes off of his hollowed out, stupid face.

"Rhonda! How the heck are ya?" He asked with a robustness of body and voice that was reminiscent of his usual self. But that, too, seemed fake. Hollowed out. Like a shell. A shell protecting something gooey and sick beneath it.

"Spit out whatever you have to say to me and then go away." I seethed. "I don't appreciate the stunt you pulled, buddy, and I don't much care if I ever see you again." It felt liberating to say it. I could practically taste the venom rolling off my tongue. And, stupidly, I _still_ managed to feel guilty somehow. I still cared about sparing his feelings, even after he practically held me at gunpoint.

"Ah, yeah," he had this look of remorse on his face now. But it was so transparent I could practically see him smirking beneath it. That fake little... _fucker._ "About that. I wanted to. Apologize."

"It's way too late for any of that." I could feel myself shaking now. But I wasn't faking it. I was reaching my boiling point and patience with this clown. "An apology? That's all? And a lousy one at that." I could practically see him flinch. And that same wave of satisfaction and regret returned.

"Well, Rhonda-" Oh, shut up, you idiot.

"No, you listen to me, you little freak. I've stuck my neck out for you dozens of times. I've forgiven you before for all of your harassment. I've even tried to be your friend." And would you believe it? I actually felt a little betrayed by the dork. That he would put me in this position. That he would stomp on my offers to make some kind of amends for everything he'd done to me. "And you stomp all over everything by pulling these outrageous stunts and harassing me!" I thought for a moment. "Sometimes even physically!" I tacked on once it came to me. He didn't say anything for another long moment. He licked his lips and I could practically hear his tongue flaking off dead skin. Like he hadn't had a drink of water in his life. I shivered.

"Rhonda, I'm moving out of town." What? My stomach fell for a brief moment, but I didn't let it reach my face. Was he serious? Was he being put in a military school or something? How bad did he get it for the stunt he pulled? For a few moments, I was beginning to worry maybe I'd been wrong. Maybe this was as bad as it looked.

"What are you on about, you dweeb?" I still couldn't lower my guard. Not until I knew he wasn't just lying to me. I reeled back on my aggression a bit, but that was as far as I went.

"My dad got a promotion, Rhonda." His voice was thick, like he might cry, but I saw no tears. "It means I'm moving away." And he was rubbing his arm again. Maybe to keep from jittering. "I got expelled, anyway. I don't- I wasn't sure if you heard or not." I hadn't.

"Why are you telling me this?" It came out as a defeated sigh.

"Rhonda, I don't want to go any length of time without you."

"Curly." I turned myself away from him now. To get some clarity. To regain some perspective. I was supposed to be angry, and yet... Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harold. Waiting for me. Once he noticed I was looking, he smiled and waved. I simply returned the smile, not wanting Curly to realize I was staring at him. Harold seemed to be the ray of light in all this mess.

"Rhonda, I want to talk to you even after I leave. Your E-mail. Your phone number-" Oh. So that's what this all was about. You know, I wasn't even angry anymore. The same way I didn't get angry at my parents anymore for neglecting to show up to any of my school functions. I was beyond anger now. All when I thought he'd reached a new low, Curly outdid himself. I just expected him to be marginally better than that. He didn't love me the way he said he did. Scheme after scheme to own me like an object.

"Is this all another plan?" And once I saw the color drain from his face, I almost regretted the accusation disguised as a question. Not that my opinion changed. He was trying to dupe me. I was sure of it.

"What?" His knees seemed to buckle.

"To keep pestering me. Were you really expelled? I could probably buy that. But you're moving? That seems like you're laying it on a little thick. Did you come here to get me to pity you? Is that why you've been faking the tremors? And why you look so sick? I actually DID feel bad for you at first. You look awful." I narrowed my eyes. "What's your game?" And then it really started to get weird. He was practically convulsing. Wheezing and clawing at his chest like something had burrowed into it. He could have won an Emmy with the performance.

"If you are just faking all this, knock it off. You're creeping me out." Which wasn't a lie. It was disturbing to watch him twist and contort like a freakish mime.

"I'm not, Rhonda. Really-"

"Rhonda! We gotta go!" It was Harold now. Thank God. I could just about kiss anyone who was willing to get me out of this awkwardness. "The buses are almost ready to leave!"

"Just a second!" I called out cheerily before returning to this, well. Whatever this was. "Well?"

"Huh?"

I sighed again. "Are you finished? Can I leave?"

"Rhonda! I'm not kidding!" He lurched toward me now, snagging my wrist. I was too dumbfounded to even react. " You don't seem to understand how bad this is! I'm going away for good, and you can't even stop worrying about when the bus leaves!" Everyone was looking at us now, but Harold was charging over.

"Let her go, Curly!"

"Get back, fat boy!" Curly was pointing at him like that alone would make Harold back off. It didn't take more than two seconds for Harold to separate Curly's bony claws from my wrist. The flesh throbbed where his fingers were clutching me.

"You slime!" That was Harold. I barely knew I was moving, but I knew I was inside the school now. I didn't know what compelled me. I knew Harold could handle the situation. But I didn't want to take any chances. I had to get Wartz. I had to get Curly contained somehow.

"Principal Wartz!" I burst into his office. Sid was seated in front of him, back to me. He turned to look my way, but I paid him no mind.

"Rhonda?" He'd learned my name after the incident. We'd become semi-close friends while he and Simmons talked me through some of my difficulties since the incident. Needless to say, I was a priority, and he took all of my visits seriously. He was on his feet once he sensed the urgency in my voice. "What is it? What's wrong?" He rounded his desk to meet me in the doorway.

"He's outside. In front of the school." My neck strained with every word. My throat was so dry. "Curly. Harold, Harold." I gulped, trying to alleviate the dry spell. "Has him." I hadn't even finished and Wartz was practically charging down the hallway. I could barely keep up with him, despite his size. On the edge of my mind, I pondered if he'd been an athlete.

We burst through the doors to Harold waving Curly around like a makeshift flag. Wartz was on him before I knew it, avoiding Curly's swipes and claws with ease. He grabbed Curly's wrist so hard I could hear something pop. Either Curly's wrist or Wartz' knuckles, which whitened from his grip.

"Back to cause more mayhem, eh? Well, young man, you can cause all the ruckus your heart desires. In my office. You can bet your parents are being notified of this."

"Let me go, you idiot! Rhonda! Rhonda!" It came out as a high frequency shriek. Wartz faltered at the door a moment, but then hastily dragged him into the school, where Curly's cries continued, but the sound was muted from the outside.

The skin on my wrist was still throbbing. I turned to Harold.

"Rhonda, did that creep hurt you?"

"Curly? That creep? Psh, no." But my throat was so dry. Like a lump had formed in it. I was choking.

"You think he could get to me? He- he-" I started to bawl.


	7. Chapter 7

Dinner with my parents lasted a few hours. My parents couldn't seem to shut up about Hillwood and how nice it would be to see the old neighborhood. I did my best to feign equal enthusiasm. But when my energy ran scant, I opted to stuff my face so I couldn't be bothered to talk. Gorging myself didn't help my stomach problems, either.

It wasn't until 7:30 that we arrived home, but that still left me with time to visit with Robbie. I figured maybe it would help me clear my head. Maybe it would help to vent. Or maybe I just needed a drive. To get away from my parents and things that reminded me of that place.

"Hey, dad, is it all right if I take the car over to Robbie's? I won't be out too late."

"Absolutely, son." He tossed me the keys like a quarterback. I snatched them from the air with ease and grinned.

"A real arm on you, kid. You're gonna be a star in the NFL, I swear it."

"As long as I have you as my wide receiver." He shot back as he walked off into the kitchen, probably to grab his evening beer.

"Now, you kids don't be screwing around while I'm out." I could hear him snickering at my wit. My mom rolled her eyes.

"Har-har. If you still haven't figured out what you want to be, try for a comedian."

I bowed. "You know the bit. Forward all payments to my Swiss bank account." It felt good to joke around. It had become one of my defense mechanisms in the years between Hillwood and now. If something ever started eating at me, I'd crack a few lame jokes and break up the tension. It usually worked. And, while it wasn't making me impervious to the anxiety, it eased it.

"Out. Out with you." She took me by the scruff of my collar and guided me to the garage door.

"Dis ain't ovah."

A smirk was her only reply, which I returned in kind. And just like that I was revving up the old Benz. Which we still didn't technically own. A few more payments. Which kind of felt like a waste, considering it was pretty old now. Whatever made pops happy.

I flipped on the radio and plugged in my phone. I spent a few minutes seated in the garage just digging through my playlists. Something moody would be nice. Radiohead should do.

15 Step was too catchy.

City of Delusion was too, I don't know. Fiesta-y? I'm not a music aficionado, so excuse my awful terminology.

I finally settled on Life in a Glass House. As soon as old Yorke's voice slithered through the lobes of my brain, everything was oddly serene.

Yeah, that'll do.

I glided out of the garage as easily as he snaked into my head, and the ride to Robbie's was as smooth as a good bourbon. I barely paid attention to any signs or stoplights. It was like being put on auto-pilot. Everything passed by in a milky haze. It was like a drink for my eyes and a drink for my brain. Going for drives always did something to me.

I wasn't even through the song before I arrived at Robbie's. For a brief moment, I worried I may have been speeding, but quickly shrugged it off.

"Just be more careful on the way back." I muttered to myself as I exited the car.

Robbie lived in a house that wasn't quite as luxurious as mine, but he was still well off. A cozy little number that felt a little more like home than my own place. Must have been all the vacancy. It seemed like everything in our house floated. Like nothing was strung together and was drifting in the oversized rooms with high ceilings.

It had me thinking about our old place in Hillwood. Where everything was cramped and there was barely room to stretch your legs when you got up in the morning. It was uncomfortable and sometimes infuriating. Nothing ever felt vacant, though.

I rang his doorbell. It was maybe a full minute before Robbie arrived at the door.

"Thaddeus," he greeted without even looking up from his phone.

"Robbie-boy. What's her name?" He was clearly engrossed in some little game. Undoubtedly with some vixen from school.

"Depends. Which one?" He looked up now. His chocolate eyes were ablaze with mischief. His smile, invariably, was one I couldn't help but return.

"Atta boy. I taught you well."

"Hey, now. You may be the looker of the pair these days, but I'm still the one with the charm." Couldn't lie, he had me there. Even when I did decide to turn mine on.

I was being led to his room, past all the familiar pictures and pieces of furniture. But thoughts of Hillwood really made me focus on everything. I liked his place a lot better than mine, I decided. It seemed so much livelier.

It wasn't as though my parents and I were distant. We got along famously. We laughed together. Spent most evenings together. And yet... It's like they didn't really know me. And I started to worry I didn't quite know myself. None of the things I'd done until now were disingenuous. I wasn't faking my humor. I wasn't faking loving my parents. Nor was I pretending to like Robbie. But something was gnawing at me. Like I'd forgotten a piece of myself I still needed when I decided to feast on Curly. For the life of me, I couldn't identify what it was.

Finally, we arrived at his room.

"Welcome to my humble abode." He walked in and spun around, arms flared. "Not as if you haven't been here a thousand times before."

"You really are a charmer. You don't have much trouble getting me back into your room night after night." I ribbed him a little.

"Super hilarious." He fell back onto his bed with a heavy plop, eyes fixed on his phone again. "What brings you here tonight? Forgive me if I'm a bit preoccupied. You know how it is. Molly and Grace. Who to choose?"

I whistled with amazement, though I wasn't that impressed. "They're pretty high on the totem pole. Either one is a catch." Truth be told, girls didn't interest me much. I couldn't deny I enjoyed their attention, but I wasn't a slave to my sex drive like most guys seemed to be. Oddly enough, I always had this eerie indifference toward them. For a while, it made me question my sexuality. Ultimately, there wasn't much of anything for either side. Sometimes, I was concerned I was asexual. But I usually managed to ignore it. At the very least, I could accurately identify attractive people. Molly and Grace were both in.

"I think I'm more into Grace," he said a little absentmindedly, his eyes glazed over. "But Grace seems more into you."

"Oh yeah?" There was a Rubik's cube on his shelf I always liked to fiddle with, which I was doing now. "How so?"

He sighed. "Well, she's open to a date. But it always seems to come back to whether or not you'll come along."

"What, with one of her friends?"

"Yeah. She picks ugly ones, too. Like I bet she doesn't want you to fall for them. Probably an excuse to get to you. You text her anymore?"

"Eh, not really." Which was true. Grace was hot, even well-spoken, but she was a bore. "She's kind of dumb."

"She's on the honor roll," he quipped quickly, like she was around to see him defend her.

"Dumb kids can make honor roll."

"Are you trying to dissuade me? Or do you want her for yourself? What gives, Thad?" It seemed like I had his undivided attention now. His phone was face-down on his bed.

"Eh, she's yours. I wouldn't be able to stick around to date her anyway."

"Huh?" His face fell immediately in concern. "What do you mean? Another trip to Italy or something?"

"You ever been to Hillwood?" I decided to be more direct now. I wasn't as nervous about the subject anymore, for one reason or another. For that matter, I felt totally indifferent.

"Never heard of it. But that's pretty vague. I'd venture to guess there's more than one Hillwood."

"Eh, doesn't really matter." One side of the Rubik's cube was completed. The remaining sides were a jumbled mess. I really related to it. On one surface, it was as calm as a lake on a windless day. Below the surface, though, there was a turmoil. Things mixing where they weren't supposed to. Reds thrashing on blues. Whites outshining blues. A real clusterfuck.

"Is it a ritzy town or something? How long you visiting it for?"

"I dunno. Probably until the start of senior year."

Robbie instantly rose from the bed. "Whoa, hold on. What? What the fuck is Hillwood? Are you joking around?" There was some urgency in his voice, which I expected. We'd become fast friends in the time I moved here. Truth be told, he was probably the best friend I'd ever had.

"No, totally serious." I placed his cube back on its shelf. "I used to live there. It's more of a city than a town. Kind of slummy. I was an inner-city kid." I shrugged.

"You never mentioned anything about that."

It made me laugh a little. "Well, yeah. Everyone here, except maybe the athletes, were born into wealth. My parents own a crappy little dry cleaning joint until my dad got into a better gig." Saying it all aloud now made everything up to this point seem like a facade. I never even had the slightest inkling of it before, yet it was all so obvious. I wasn't like Robbie and his silver-spoon friends. It didn't matter how wealthy I became or what I wore. The clothes, the weightlifting, the dates and sexual encounters. It was all like a dream. It was like waking up.

I felt like Curly.

"Why did you feel like you couldn't tell me?"

"Because you wouldn't have accepted me the way you did. Chances are, none of you would."

"Thad-"

"Did you know my name used to be "Curly"?"

He paused and stared at me for a long moment. He stared and stared like my face had become a different one altogether. Like I was an invader in his friend's clothing.

"What are you even talking about? What's that even mean? "Curly"? What is all this shit? Talk straight."

"I dunno. I don't remember what it meant anymore. It was a nickname." Why couldn't I remember its origin? It was like forgetting a birth name. Must be how dementia patients feel.

"What the- Thad. Gimme a real answer. Tell me what's going on here. Stop being cryptic and weird. What are you, moving? Where is Hillwood? What's up with you?"

"Hillwood," I exhaled wearily. "was my hometown. I already told you."

"Why are you going? When? For how long?"

"My dad wants to go back. Two weeks or so. Like I said: Until senior year." It came out pragmatic and precise. I'd lost interest in niceties.

"So, what? That's it? You just came here for that?" He seemed angry now. Really angry. What the fuck did _he_ have to be angry about? It was like a gag in some B-list comedy. _Robbie's_ angry at _me._

"Yeah, I dunno."

"What the fuck are you- why are you acting like this? It's pissing me off." Truth be told, he was starting to eat at my nerves, too.

"Have you not been listening to anything I've said? Why do you make me repeat myself? Why do you keep asking the same questions?" He could be a real fucking moron. One thing I had no tolerance for was idiots. Nothing pissed me off more than having a conversation with myself.

"I didn't even ask anything-"

"Why do you keep asking the same questions? You mad? You fuming?" I knew how to push his buttons. Years of friendship resulted in more than a few fights. And, while I didn't want to fight, I did want to return the frustration he gave me. Did he think I was happy about any of this? Yet all he could do was say inane, trivial shit. Yeah, I didn't belong with these idiots. Not that I thought I belonged with Hillwood's batch of Stinkys and Harolds. It's like the world was filled with nothing but simian idiots.

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. "You done? You ready to talk without a cock in your mouth?"

"I thought you'd like it. Grace seems to do it often enough when she talks to you."

"Dude, what the fuck. Get out of my room."

"Dude," I did a nasally imitation of his voice. "Dude. Bro. Broseph. Dude. Dude." I was on my way out anyway. Not that I stopped mocking him the whole way to the door. Once we were nearly out of the main hallway, he shoved me a little. It didn't really budge me, but I got angry. I got so fucking pissed off. I thought I might actually hit him.

"Thaddeus? I didn't hear you come in. How are you? Are you leaving? Is something going on?" It was his mom. She was a decent looker. Early forties. I guess she could detect the anger in our expressions.

"Nah, nothing, mom." Robbie made the executive decision to butt in for me. I laughed and tried to play it off cool.

"I guess Robbie's doing the talking for me."

She laughed nervously and shot Robbie an annoyed glance. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for some refreshments? I just made lemonade." A nice gesture. I always did like his mother. I didn't want to stick around much longer. In case I really did end up succumbing to the urge to slug her son.

"I'm good. Goodnight, ma'am. Rob." I turned away and strode toward the door. I didn't even look back. I didn't hear what she said behind me. I had the door opened and slammed in one lightning-quick motion. I think she started to chew Robbie out.

I flung the door of the Benz open and sat there another long minute. I sat there until the lights in Robbie's house went out. Until my phone had rung three times. Undoubtedly my parents seeing where I was. I sat there in silence for a long, long minute.

I laughed, and then I drove home.


	8. Chapter 8

I was still trying to figure out what sent me so over the edge at Robbie's. I'd calmed down, but only because anxiety was beginning to overpower my anger. The drive back did little to stifle things. For a brief time, I entertained the awful possibility I may still have feelings for Rhonda. Why else would I be so nervous? That had to be it. The ugly truth. The simple truth.

It wasn't it, though. I conjured up every memory I could muster. Every disgusted glance and pained sigh. I played these images back again and again in my mind- memories I used to hold fondly, and every time, I felt nothing. Though, it did engender a new curiosity, one that hadn't even occurred to me until this moment: What did she look like now? Was she still beautiful? Had she gotten fat? Ugly? Was she plain? Flat?

The urge was strong enough to prompt me to fling open my laptop. I'd been in my room nearly an hour now. It took only moments too boot up and load. A click of my browser and another click of a pinned icon.

Facebook.

I clicked the "search" bar, and I could feel my hands go cold. Why did it matter so much, if I didn't love her? Chances are, I'd see her soon anyway. Assuming she still lived in Hillwood.

Somehow, the thought she'd left made me more anxious. Was it because I didn't want her last impression of me being dragged into the school by Wartz? Screaming until my lungs burned for air.

My fingers hovered just above the keys. Locked and uncooperative.

Harold.

I typed that much and couldn't remember his last name. Harold. B. Berzyck? What? No, you idiot. Come on. Brr. Brr. Something. He was a Jew. I remembered that.

I tried "Burman", and was instantly corrected with "Berman". I clicked the first result as soon as I saw he was registered under "Hillwood".

There was that stupid lummox. I'd know that dead fish-eyed stare anywhere. But that was about all I recognized. Harold had gotten big- huge, really. And I don't mean fatter. Yes, he clearly still had much of the fat, but he was so much more muscular. He looked like my steroidal fantasies of youth. What I used to aspire toward. His face wasn't much to look at, but he seemed to try and compensate with sheer size.

 _"Idiot,"_ I thought. _"Girls don't like overgrown muscleheads."_ It was a thought that didn't last more than a few seconds.

He was next to a girl. A woman. Long, black hair. A pleased but reserved smile. Soft, glossy lips, and an icy but captivating stare. Red. She was wearing red. It has to be-

I slammed my laptop shut. I didn't want to look at his relationship status, and I didn't want to know her identity. They were smiling at each other just like Harold and Rhonda did the last day I saw her.

I could feel that anger welling up again. The same sick, green fire in my stomach that I felt at Robbie's. But I could feel it everywhere this time. My eyes were like unfocused orbs of molten metal. The same heat was sweltering from every direction at once in my brain. The anger was too white-hot and intense to ignore, but I couldn't _place_ it. Maybe that's why it only seemed to grow.

"Oh, you all think you've forgotten me." I was mumbling into my hands, fingertips massaging my aching eyes. I didn't even know who was talking. Every word came before I could think them up. It's the closest thing I could liken to being possessed.

"All any of you had to do was stay in Hillwood and jump through hoops like a bunch of dumb yuppies. They have no idea what _I've_ been up to. What _I_ had to do and what _I_ had to _build_ and _endure_. That dumbfuck Harold. All he had to do was stay in Hillwood and everything fell into his lap." I couldn't get the haunting image of his big, dopey grin out of my head. How had this bonafide _retard_ bested me?

"No. No. God damn it." I leaned forward, fingers raking through my hair. " _Think_ for a second." I was careful to keep my voice down, so my parents wouldn't be aware of this unsightly little incident. "Pull yourself together. You don't love Rhonda."

"Oh?" I was legitimately talking to myself. I had no delusions, nor did I want to, about split personalities, and I knew both voices came from the same source. But I couldn't stop them from walking through what I already figured out.

"You hate someone who lucked into something you used to want. That's all it is." The world seemed to suck in around me, then expand in an exhale all at once.

It was whole again, and so was I.

Yeah, that made the most sense. I hated idiots who lucked into things while guys like me- _honest guys_ \- got the shaft. That's what I couldn't stand. I couldn't bare her subdued glee. Her satisfaction with being with that _imbecile._ Who probably got his shot with her from a cereal box. He was completely incompetent, yet another perversion of nature. Natural order fucking itself up. Oh, but the stars always found a way to re-align. There was always a backlash. An inverse reaction. An equal and opposite reaction. Everything always righted itself, and the reverb would probably kill Harold.

As dark as it was, the thought pleased me.

Where I used to be an agent of chaos, I now believed in order and structure. Even if it had to be achieved by unorthodox or questionable means. I didn't believe in karma or the fates. It was the duty and folly of man that righted the natural world. Harold's idiocy was no exception. Nobody was immune, and he'd receive his comeuppance in the form of a building collapsing on him.

Forget Rhonda, it was about their happiness, his stupid luck, and maybe her own undeserved happiness that set me off.

It created a new thought, one which I didn't welcome.

Had I been unhappy this entire time?

…

I ruminated on that thought. I sat in undisturbed thought the same way I sat in my car outside of Robbie's. I pondered the meaning of the question and the meaning of life itself. I wondered what Gorilla Harold and that wench had experienced together in my absence. I wondered and soon doubted if anyone even remembered me anymore.

Ultimately, I decided I'd rather nobody did. For the third time, a new idea was born.

We sat in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Now, dear readers, we take a leap forward. One which spans several weeks. From the time I left my current home to return to the slums of Hillwood. _Oh, but the details, Thad,_ I can practically hear you crying. _What happened? Did you make up with Robbie? What did you do to pass the time? Did you investigate your Hillwood friends any further?_ I'll tell you all in time, friends, as I'd soon tell you the full extent of the Phantom of the Opera incident. Don't think I forgot. All I'm doing now is sparing the frivolous details for your benefit.

About a week after my outburst, Robbie came to my house to make up with me. The air was tense at first, but it was mostly his own hostility. By then, I had too many other things on my mind. Truth be told, most of what we discussed eludes me. I wasn't paying much attention to it- those little details, you know? Thinking of it now, it really is one of the strongest Curly-isms I retained.

I'm a big picture guy. Too many people are distracted by these inconsequential, trivial things. Nothing ever gets done that way.

Anyway, Robbie said something after awhile. Something that glimmered like a diamond. That had just embedded itself in my leg. I couldn't decide if his little anecdote made me happy or miserable.

"Hillwood, right? That's what you said? Where you're from?"

"Yeah?" I gurgled between sips of water. "What of it?"

"A year or two, I met a girl from Hillwood. I never mentioned it because I didn't know you used to live there. It took me a while to remember her name, but I looked her up on Facebook. Thad, did you know a Rhonda?"

It's like the universe had a sniper rifle trained on my head.

"What? Rhonda? Rhonda what? A first name's too vague." But I already knew where this was going. I wished I'd said something else just to avoid the answer.

"Wellington-Lloyd. Real well-to-do chick. I met her at a gala. It was hosted by her dad. Real Crackerjack guy. Anyway, that ring a bell? Although, I dunno what she'd be doing in a public school."

I scoffed. "Right. Public school with us serfs."

"Geez, Thad. Chill. Anyway, you know her? Her dad mentioned Hillwood, and I talked to her a little."

I almost got up and socked him in the face right there. Once again, I couldn't trace a source for it, but the thought of him even _speaking_ to her made my blood boil.

 _"Oh, I bet you tried to charm her, didn't you. Like every other dame who has a functioning groin."_ I wondered, sulkily, how many guys she must have fucked by now. Why did I care?

I played the memories over again. I thought of every encounter we'd ever had. I matched them up with the new face of the woman I saw on my computer screen a week prior. And still, I felt no love.

I was empty. Only a hollow anger burned.

"Yeah, I knew her. What of it?" I wouldn't let him know I used to carry a torch for her. I worried it might give him some kind of twisted gratification.

"She's a real babe, y'know. But I guess you haven't seen her in a while. And, on her Facebook, hey, have you looked her up? Anyway, get this, she's dating this big football-player looking putz. Harold something-or-other." Well, thank you, Robbie, for confirming everything I didn't want to know and tried to avoid knowing. While it stung at the time, it all seemed to roll off me as time passed. Like water off my back. I'd have to brace myself for anything I might see in Hillwood.

The remainder of our conversation was more of those foolish little small-talk-y subjects.

Not much else happened. I worked out. As per usual. Outings with my dad. As per usual.

Grace, one of the bimbos Robbie was hitting up heard through one of loose-lip Robbie's buddy's I was ditching the joint pretty soon. She met up with me one morning in school to talk about it.

"Uhm, Thad. Hi. You haven't been texting me lately." It was an opener that already had me kind of annoyed. Yeah, no shit, Grace. You're about as interesting as an old person's life story. Of course I haven't texted you. As I mentioned before, her looks didn't mean a damn thing to me. It was a shallow pool, and the only thing she had going on was what everyone on top could see. That's boring. No chase or excitement. No thrill. And if there's no thrill, there's no reason to hunt.

"Yeah, ah, my bad. Just been busy, y'know." I shrugged, turning away from her. I still had to grab some breakfast before class, and I wasn't that interested in whatever she had to say. I was hoping she could take a hint.

"Oh, haha, that's cool." A forced, transparent laugh. Real charming. "Well, uh. One of the girls was telling me you'd be moving soon. Is that true?" She fiddled with her school uniform's sweater. You know, that was one thing I looked forward to as far as going back to public school went. I could stop wearing buttonups and ties. I could break out the full extent of my wardrobe.

"Nah, not really." I yawned. "I'm just going on a "vacation". Where I used to live."

Her expression brightened. "Oh, fun! Just a week or so, then?"

"'Till senior year." We were walking now. Well, I was walking, she was stalking. I really wanted something to eat.

"Wait, really? You'll be gone all Summer, too? Thaaaaad." I hated it when she whined my name. Like a baby trying to get her way.

I huffed out,"Yeah, pretty much." She ignored my obvious annoyance.

"Well, hey, we just need to text more often! And I can add you on Skype. We're Facebook friends too, right? Where did you used to live? Oh, Snapchat. And you can bring me a few souvenirs." I remembered the last time we engaged on Snapchat. A few benign exchanges and she was trying to be cutesy about asking for shirtless pictures. She was a whore, really. Maybe that's why I didn't like Grace most of all.

There was a fleeting dread Rhonda might have turned out just like her.

 _"Heh, hey. All the better for me. Makes it easier to ignore her."_ That seemed to satisfy me, if not just for a bit.

"Yeah, that all sounds good." I returned her fake smile. I was willing to say whatever I had to to get her out of my hair. And, while it seemed to satisfy her, she still pouted.

"I'm gonna text you later. You better text me back this time." Her voice was a sing-song warning.

"Of course."

I never returned her texts. She went on some tirade about how I was a manslut heartbreaker, then told me she was drunk when she made the accusations. She was still texting me, even now, weeks later. Eh, no big deal. She'll get the message sooner or later. Maybe if she put more effort into her one-dimensional personality. Her breasts had more interesting character than she did.

You know, Grace is honestly one of those trivialities I griped about. I don't know why I bothered to mention her at all.

Though, as for what went on between the leave and arriving in Hillwood? Those were the only things of any consequence. I'm here now, in fact, I'm at the public high school right now. I'd only seen it a handful of times as a child, but it seemed less scummy than it used to. Smaller, but cleaner. The sidewalks seem to have been renovated since I'd last visited Hillwood, too. There must have been a massive overhaul in recent years that spanned a few seasons. Where I expected things to have deteriorated further, everything was better upkept or replaced with something new outright.

In the schoolyard, I actually spotted a few familiar faces. Gerald, tall and lean. He had a soulpatch situation going on, and I was really digging it. Phoebe almost looked like she hadn't grown at all since our elementary school days, but she was visibly more mature.

At least, I _think_ I saw Gerald and Phoebe. There was a massive new sea of faces I couldn't place and I was sure I'd never seen before. Despite being the new kid on the block, nobody seemed to notice me. All too wrapped up in their own devices to look my way.

I tried to scope out Rhonda, and thought I saw her a few times. False alarms, though. And that was fine by me.

Strangely, I felt excited. Because, I suppose, there was one final thing I had yet to address. Something I neglected to mention while getting you up to speed: I decided to treat this as a conquest. Clearly, something lingered for Rhonda, and I was going to see to it that I'd eliminate it. I wouldn't engage her unless she engaged me first. I'd expose myself to her slowly. Until I could tolerate watching her make PDA with Harold. If I could stomach watching her make out with another guy, I'd be in the clear. I had two months to do it. I doubted I'd see her over the Summer, despite the fact I'd be here for it.

I guess you could say that Curly still lived. But he was on his last legs. It's only a matter of time. As I crushed everything else with systematic precision, I would crush his heart in one dominating blow. I knew he would resist, but it was to my benefit and for his mercy.


	10. Chapter 10

It only took about fifteen minutes to locate all of my classrooms- the place was that small. It was no private school, that was for sure. The biggest struggle, which was still giving me problems, was finding my locker. I studied the folded sheet of paper every thirty seconds, looking like a dope.

"Locker 330B?" I mumbled. I figured "B" must be a wing, but this place was so disorganized I couldn't figure out where the hell it might be, despite the fact I tried three different 330 lockers. How many were there? And why were there so many?

Fortunately, someone happened to catch on to my fumbling around and approached me.

"Hey, you're a new face. You looking for your classrooms?"

"Yeah, I-" I looked up. It was Helga. No doubt about it. The freshly-plucked unibrow betrayed her. Aside from that little smear, she matured nicely. Nothing to write home about- certainly no Grace or Molly- but she didn't shape up half bad. Looks like puberty was kind to the both of us.

"I mean, yeah. I could use some help."

"You already said "yeah", bucko." She grinned and punched my arm. "You seem kind of familiar, you know? What's your name? I'm Helga." I choked for a second, before I remembered what I had rehearsed.

"My name's Brad. Nice to meet you." Phonetically similar to my real name. I wouldn't risk using it. I decided I was going to play it low-key. I didn't want Curly to resurface in any way. Not within myself or among my peers.

"So, who you having trouble finding? Maybe we'll have some classes together." Shit, I hoped not. I'd have to get to my teachers before anyone else did, if that's the case. It was an oversight, admittedly. I couldn't let anyone call me "Thad" or "Thaddeus" during attendance.

"Ah, it's my locker, actually. 330B. I'm having trouble finding the wing or whatever."

"Oh," she rolled her eyes. "there's no "wing". There are just some B lockers on the other side of the school. They're easy to miss because there are so few of them. You lucked out, new kid."

I laughed with some relief. I didn't _expect_ anyone to call me on my identity, but she really seemed to think I was a totally different person. "Yeah, I guess so."

We were maybe halfway to the locker when that petit little Asian thing I saw earlier joined us. For a moment or two, I didn't even notice her presence. That's how small and quiet she was.

"Helga." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Who's your new friend?" She looked at me cautiously. Like she was waiting for permission to speak directly with me.

"Pheebs, this is Brad. He's the new guy. Brad, this is Phoebe. You're still a little new for nickname privileges."

"Fair enough." I shrugged awkwardly. "Nice to meet you." I shook her tiny hand, which made her giggle. I guess it _was_ a bit of a stiff gesture. Helga was rolling her eyes again.

"You look like you'd fit right in with ol' Peapod and Rhonda." It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Helga!" Phoebe nudged her.

"What do you mean?" I did my best to keep my voice even while feigning ignorance. One misstep and everything could go up in flames.

"Ah, nothin'," she cracked her knuckles disinterestedly and shrugged. "You seem kinda, I dunno. High-life." Her nose wrinkled. "No offense, new guy."

"Ah, no. I think I get what you mean." I pinched my shirt. "The clothes, right?" Maybe my style wasn't so subtle in a place like Hillwood. Where I was one of the quietest dressers at parties back with Robbie and Molly, I stood out like a sore thumb here. Among the sea of kids, it was easy to tell how cheap their clothes were. I could practically sort everything out in my head at a glance:

$20 Walmart jeans on one kid

$5 bargain bin Slayer shirt on another.

Knockoff Converse. $25.

It made me feel kind of scummy. I bet some of them worked a whole week to buy the distressed jeans I had on. Jeans bought with my dad's money.

Oh, God. I really _am_ like Rhonda.

"Yeah, pretty much." Her mood seemed to sour with every passing moment, where she seemed so cheery and open at first.

"Don't mind her." Phoebe was doing the talking now. "She's just afraid of _rejection_." The word was hissed in a whisper. It made Helga blush immediately.

"Phoebe! I... Urgh. Whatever. So I've been burned by snobs before. I'm not desperate to get burned again." I think I got it now. In fact, sometimes, I was the same way. At times. Especially at private school, where the kids really could be assholes. If you betrayed their expectations, you were lamb to the slaughter. Maybe I had her worrying I was sizing up everything she did.

"I think I kind of get where you're coming from." It was all I could really offer her. Maybe, in time, I could prove to her I'm not a silver-spoon snooty kid. She seems to have mellowed in her age. Maybe we'd get along. And, while she was still clearly on guard, my words appeared to ease her a bit. I threw in a playful grin for good measure.

Bingo. She couldn't help but smile back. Nobody could resist me for long. "Yeah, I'm sure you do, Mr. Teenage Heartbreaker. You probably haven't been rejected a day in your life." I actually laughed at that.

She had no idea.

"Who's this "Rhonda", anyway?" Time for some reconnaissance. I wanted to know as much about her as possible through our peers before I saw her myself. Any information I could collect would be vital. Especially if it kept Curly in check. I'd make mental notes when necessary, and commit them to writing at a later time.

"You hear that, Pheebs? The guppy just got dropped in the pond and he's already heading for the big fish." Her tone was sour again. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she _might_ be jealous.

"Well, to be fair, Helga, you _did_ compare him with her." Always the logical one, Phoebe. I admired that about her. At least, when she wasn't poking holes in my plans. She was the kind of girl you hated working against you, but you'd drop the animosity at the drop of a hat if she came to your side.

"Yeah, Helga." I chimed along. It made Phoebe giggle. She was kind of cute herself. I could see us getting along. Maybe Hillwood wouldn't be so bad after all.

"There's not much to know." Helga sighed, defeated. "She's queen bee. Runs the hive, you get it? She's an _okay_ person. When she's not being obnoxious or shallow. Dating our star football player. They're made for each other." She thought for a moment, and hesitantly added. "She's pretty cute. Just don't get your hopes up."

"Noted."

"I dunno, Helga." Phoebe was starting to turn red. "I think he'd have a decent shot. I mean, you're Arnold's girl, and even you seem flustered-"

"Phoebe! Cripes. Say everything out loud, why don't you?" How about that. I guess it was only a matter of time, but, shit. Helga and Arnold. I wondered when it happened. And, honestly, I felt a slight pang of envy. Part of me wished things had gone that well for Rhonda and me. A small, dying part.

"Eep!" Phoebe squeaked like someone had pinched her ass. "Helga, new guy! Rhonda. End of the hall. Behind you, Brad. Slowly approaching." There was a lead weight attached to my chest, and it instantly fell into my stomach. I could feel a shiver and cold sweat coming on. I didn't anticipate seeing her this soon. For a moment, I considered not turning to look at all. But that might seem more suspicious. No, if I was going to commit to my role, I had to be thorough. Not a detail out of place.

I looked.

It was the girl from the photo. I knew it would be, but I was _still_ caught off guard. I hadn't looked at her since the night I searched Harold's Facebook.

She was slender and tall. Her hair was darker and longer than it had been in the picture I saw. She was still wearing red, but it was a different number this time. A loud, but soothing blouse. It reminded me of drinking in the road. Smooth, but dangerous. The hourglass of a black widow. I wouldn't doubt she's killed some boys.

In my imagination, she wore red lipstick, but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, that same light gloss was spread evenly along her full lips. Her eyes, which hadn't looked my direction yet, were still icy and oddly predatory. The smiles she returned to kids in the hall didn't reach her eyes.

I let none of my astonishment reach my face. I remained indifferent and unimpressed. Though, if old Curly had seen what she'd become, he'd have died of blood loss.

She was looking at me now, and I returned the stare. If I lost this, she'd think I was another submissive yuppie. I wasn't about to bow to her again.

I could actually sense some confusion in her stare. Some bewilderment. Probably at the new face and the lack of reverence for who she was.

"Look alive, new guy." Helga nudged me. I didn't even look at her. Rhonda was mere feet away. She halted her long, predatory strides to stand before me.

"Hi!" Her voice was bright and warm, but it chilled under her stare. "You don't look familiar. New to the area?"

"Yeah. I just transferred over. Brad. And you are?"

"Rhonda." Her eyes were glimmering and scanning my features. Searching for some weakness. Something to latch onto. I'd seen the look from women before. They could be just like spiders. One twitch of a thread and they were smothering you with their fangs.

"Nice to meet you."

"And you." That pleased smile spread across her face. The same one I saw in the picture. She probably figured she could make some kind of game of me. A test to see if she could make me bend over backwards like most guys probably did.

"I have to meet up with my boyfriend, but I'll keep an eye out for you in my classes. Brad, right?"

"Right." I smiled. She hadn't stopped.

"Okay, Brad. I'll see you around." That was fine with me. I withstood her charm better than I expected, but not as well as I'd hoped. It would take time, but I knew I could acclimate now. That much was clear. I resisted my tremors flawlessly. It was strictly a contest now.

Who would crack who first?


	11. Chapter 11

Much of the day passed without incident. To my amazement, I shared virtually no classes with anyone I used to know. Where I anticipated I'd have to correct any teachers regarding my name, most of them opted to call me "new guy" or "Polo". Neither of which I minded at all. It seemed keeping my identity under wraps would be a bigger cinch than I realized. And why not? Maybe I'd been too paranoid. How many people _really_ had their eye out for old Curly?

Earlier in the morning, not long after Rhonda and I sized each other up, I searched for two things: a weight room, and any sign of a chess club. As luck would have it, they school seemed to have both. It would be convenient for me to continue my lifting regimen here, granted the equipment wasn't up to code with the old private abode's.

As for the chess club, you ask?

My therapist introduced it to me the fourth or fifth session we had together. Which was fine by me. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Rhonda, or why I'd cut my hair all those weeks ago, or how much I hated having to move. My immediate suspicion was that it was a bonding exercise. I figured, if this shrink wanted inside my head, we'd have to find common ground. And I was right, but that was only on one account.

Chess taught me patience. Planning. It appealed to my methodical nature. There was no chance, no guesswork involved. There was right and wrong. Optimal and losing. Nothing hidden but intentions. A game of perfect information. It taught me how to keep a cool head while under attack. It taught me to slow down and evaluate all of my options. It was instrumental to developing mentally, in my case.

I wasn't all that concerned if anyone found me out. The thing about being attractive is as follows: if you're a nerd, you're just a nerd. If you're hot with a nerdy hobby, you're cutely dorky. I _knew_ I had the looks to get away with virtually anything. And joining the chess club wouldn't be social suicide. Especially if the company I kept would consist of Helga and Phoebe, the latter probably played herself.

I knew where the room was, as I passed it several times searching for my locker in the morning. School had been out nearly ten minutes and, aside from a few girls giggling over me, nobody seemed to care I was here. I didn't see any sign of Helga or Phoebe, not that I was looking for them.

The room was just down the hall, and I hadn't reached the door before an alien yet all-too-familiar voice called out to me: "Brad! Hey!"

I turned to greet the voice. "Hey. Uh, Rhonda, right?" I threw in some uncertainty for good measure. However, she seemed pleased I hadn't forgotten. I could only assume she _expected_ me to remember. Oh, yes, who could ever forget Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd?

"How'd your first day go? Seems we don't have any classes together."

"It went all right. Everyone here's pretty cool. I think I'll like Hillwood." Which wasn't a lie. While I wasn't especially eager to come back, it was far less depressing than I anticipated for an inner-city high school.

"Glad to hear it," she beamed, answering almost before I finished my sentence. Her enthusiasm seemed so artificial. It was off-putting, but it also had me curious. It seemed like she wanted to get formalities out of the way to address something that interested her more.

"Are you headed home? Would you like a ride? Or did you drive yourself?"

"Well, I drove myself. But no, I'm not leaving yet." I shifted toward the door a little. A few kids walked in behind me. The light gust of the door opening and closing rustled my hair.

"Oh? Are you in a sport or something? You seem like a sporty type." She grinned, obviously staring at my arms. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was flirting. But it was Rhonda we were talking about. Like chess, in life there can be hidden intentions. I needed to unearth hers if I was going to find something to exploit.

It also meant I'd have to play my game without falling for any traps. Especially not this one.

"Actually," I cleared my throat. "I was going to check out the chess club. I'm an avid player. Wanted to scope out the competition." Again, it wasn't entirely a lie. I did want to see what Hillwood had to offer as far as chess was concerned. But it was mainly to keep my head level. While drives at night helped me unwind, chess kept my head sharp.

To my surprise, her smile didn't falter. Either excellent acting skill, or I was so mesmerizing she didn't care.

"Chess, huh? I never played that much. Though daddy did teach me the rules." Interesting.

"You know how to play?" This was something I could use. I didn't know where it would take me, or what I'd do with it, but it had me piqued.

"I know how the pieces move. Don't get your hopes up."

"I know how the pieces move, too." I couldn't help the mischievous grin from slitting my face open. She rolled her eyes and gently nudged me.

"You know what I mean. I know the rules. I'm not a very good player, though." _Not a very good player_. Oh, she didn't know the half of it. I bet she played half the school like a damn fiddle on a daily basis. Maybe her chess skills weren't up to par, but she knew how to play people on a real life scale. Just looking into her icy eyes assured me of that.

"Play a game with me?"

"Well, I'd love to, but I have to meet up with Harold in a few minutes."

"That's all it'll take." I waggled my eyebrows a little for extra cheesy effect. It never failed to make girls smile, even if the girl in question was Rhonda.

"Fine. You're on."

The kids in the room immediately noticed our presence. None of them were anyone I recognized. I figured at least Brainy or maybe Eugene might be here. A kid that looked similar to Sid, but his nose wasn't quite right. They were all pretty low on the social totem pole. I developed the ability to sniff out little fish in the water. And Rhonda and I were the biggest in the room. Nobody would bother us.

I picked up two pawns from the closest table and shuffled them behind my back. Then, I presented two closed fists to Rhonda.

"Choose your color."

"Hm. Right hand." She tapped it gingerly with her index finger.

"White it is. Ladies first."

"Very thoughtful of you." We each pulled out a chair and sat at the table. Looked like a Science room. Beakers lined the walls and stations with sinks were on the opposite side of the room. I didn't have long to make observations, because she'd already moved.

"E4? Pretty sharp. Kind of unstable, though, don't you think?" I remarked. I doubted she even knew the coordinates, much less opening theory. I wasn't a grandmaster or anything, but I knew E4 wasn't as sound as D4. That being said, I'm an E4 practitioner myself. I advanced the black pawn in front of my king one square.

"Oh! I know that. French, right?"

"I thought you said you don't play."

"I don't play often."

"Do you know why I'd play the French?" She had my undivided attention now. Her eyes had an indescribable warmth to them that wasn't there before. The eyes of a child interested in a puzzle, completely absorbed in thought.

"Isn't it a common response to E4?" It was pretty common knowledge if you knew anything about chess, but even if she were guessing, it impressed me.

"Very good." I cupped my hand over my mouth to conceal my smile.

"Daddy taught me a few openings." Her knight advanced from the kingside onto the frontlines.

"Going into a Ruy Lopez?"

"Please, Brad. As if I know what that means." She knew some chess all right, but she needed to work on her Poker face. It was obvious now she had at least a cursory interest in the sport, but the depth to which it extended remained a mystery, just as her next move did. The following few lines were standard, practically lifted from a textbook. There was no doubt after seven or eight moves that she played with some frequency.

Against who? I wondered. When? Where? Was she already a member of the club? I couldn't see it. The kids around us seem dumbfounded either of us were even in the room. Online? Why? She didn't seem the type. She must have a million obligations, between being queen bee of the school and being a trophy daughter. Not to mention being simian Harold's girlfriend.

"Check." She declared proudly. It was no surprise, though. I saw it coming, and it was easily blocked.

"You shouldn't be so brash. You knew I could thwart that."

"Check." She moved another piece. This time, I didn't see it coming. I'd been too wrapped up in my own thoughts to properly analyze the position. Now, if I were to evade capture, it would result in losing a piece for little compensation. I knew it could get ugly, but I also knew she couldn't be on my level. No matter how much time she had to practice, it wouldn't be enough. I knew I had more. And I knew I played it at a younger age. I could play Queen odds and win.

I moved my king from her line of fire. She took my knight. I moved a pawn, and she moved one herself. I could tell it was a waiting move. Passive. Not at all bettering her position. My moved piece created a discovered attack, however. I forked her queen and rook. No matter what she did, she'd be losing one of them.

Her expression was startled, though not for long. A small, thin smirk stretch along her face. As if to say "You got me, but it's not over."

Twenty minutes later, at the cost of most of my army, I narrowly defeated her.


	12. Chapter 12

"That was more fun than I expected. Don't you play chess a lot, though? And you almost lost! I guess I'm naturally gifted, huh?" Rhonda and I were walking through the halls now. I offered to walk her out to her car, and hoped she wouldn't see mine. I'd have to get something more low-profile to drive in to school. As much as I didn't want kids knowing I was Thaddeus, I also didn't want them suspecting my affluence.

"Psh, right. I bet you play pretty often. Why weren't you upfront about it?"

"Why, Brad, are you accusing me of lying?" I rolled my eyes. As much as I hated to admit it, she was cute when she played dumb. Still, I wasn't prepared to drop this. The fact she played so well against me suggested she definitely had experience. There was a chance, however minuscule, I'd unearth some hidden depths.

And, perhaps, something to exploit.

She seemed unwilling to discuss it further at this moment, however, so I opted for something easier.

"What do you listen to?"

"Huh?" It caught her by surprise in a way I didn't expect. She looked at me like I bit the head off of a bat. And, well, I did do _something_ like that when I was younger... _But that was just ONE time!_

"Y'know. Bands. What do you listen to?" I made a little trumpet playing gesture with my fingers, which she appeared to ignore.

"You're awfully evasive. I barely even know you yet. We haven't talked about where you're from, or anything really personal, and you just ask about music?"

"Sure." We'd stopped in the hallway now. I leaned against the wall of lockers behind me. "I mean, music is important to me. So, it's only natural I'd want to talk about it, right? Isn't that how you get to know someone? Depending on what you ask, it kind of says something about yourself, too."

"Huh," she considered this a moment, fingers phantom stroking her chin. "You know, that's kind of insightful. The last thing you said: "A question reveals something about yourself"."

"Well, I can't take all the credit. You're the one who worded it more eloquently."

"What can I say? I have a way with words." Somehow, I doubted that. But I didn't raise my voice to the contrary. It was imperative to stay on her good side. That being said, I also didn't intend to be her bootlicker.

"I like a lot of Alternative Rock, by the way." She piped up in my silence.

"You don't-"

"Seem the type. Right." She hugged her books a little more closely. It was a guarded action. One which may have escaped the attention of most people. I had to slacken things a bit or she might become too guarded to feed me anything useful.

"It's not that it's crazily outlandish. Just wouldn't peg you for it, I guess." The addendum eased her defensive stance. It made me wonder, why had she seemed like she was ready to run as soon as I questioned her tastes? It was just music. And, yet, there had to be more to it. Maybe it wasn't music, specifically. Maybe it was her character she hated to have scrutinized. Or categorized. Regardless of the cause, I'd have to investigate it more thoroughly. I'd be sure to commit this to notes.

"It's easy to make assumptions. There's always more beneath the surface, though. You've got to know that, right? Just because you're a sharp dresser and a nice face, there has to be more depth than that. At least, I hope so." She smiled good-naturedly. It went a long way to ease the tension, and I could feel my shoulders relax. I wasn't even aware I had them braced. What was I so nervous about?

"Oh, I'm more than a pretty face. You can count on that, shweethawt." I laid on my worst, thick Sean Connery impression.

It seemed to stir something in her. Almost all at once, her eyes glazed over a bit, as if entering a trance. Her eyes were coal black, dead pits. I couldn't read what was behind them. It was only the rest of her features which provided me any clues. It was an expression you'd make when you forgot to turn the oven off. Several years ago.

"Oh, man. Talk about a blast to the past." She traced the corner of her lip. I was getting nervous now.

"Uh, what's up? You wanna fill me in on the cause of your thousand yard stare?"

She blinked, and the the exuberant, smoldering light was instantly back in her gaze. "Oh, wow. I'm sorry. It's just, I don't know. Your cadence. The way you said that. It reminded me of this boy I used to know."

My chest erupted into feverish flames. I wasn't concerned she was close to finding me out, I wasn't scared. And somehow, my body still reacted as if she had accused me of being Curly outright. My mouth, dry as cotton, couldn't resist my next utterance.

"Who?" Each letter was like venom. I could taste copper in the back of my throat, but I was dying to hear her say it. I couldn't place why. It would do nothing for me. If anything, I should be avoiding the topic entirely. Lest I risk her associating me with him.

Her soft, glossy lips cruelly hung on the word, teasing me as she worked it around in her mouth like gum. I knew she'd spit it out. She never could stand my particular flavor.

"His name was... His real name, I guess. It was Thaddeus."

"Thaddeus." I echoed. I didn't expect her to recall my nickname, let alone my real name. I was indescribably warm.

Content.

"We all called him Curly. I don't remember why. Curly. I haven't said that aloud in eight years."

"Curly." I echoed again. I hadn't said it in about equally as long.

We stared at each other a long moment. A moment that last hours. A moment in Robbie's driveway or a moment spent huddled over in my room. Cursing myself for what I'd seen on my laptop. A moment after I cut my hair and smashed my glasses. A moment between leaving Hillwood and returning now to face Rhonda. It was all just one long, interminable moment. A moment that was gone before you know it, somehow.

In that moment, I could have sworn to you that she knew. She knew I was Curly and the jig was up. The silence was unbearably loud. The stare was too intense and deep. There was such a charge in the air I could practically feel the electricity crackling between our bodies.

"Ready to go?" Was all she asked. And, as soon as the boundless energy flooded the halls, it was gone. As quickly as my life before this moment. Like the flash of light before a car accident. Or the flash of light before death coming to rest upon you. The darkness behind it so big you can't make out its shape. I was just Brad again, and the trance was broken.

"Sure."


	13. Chapter 13

**The Following Day**

Somehow, I'd survived another day in school without incident. My paranoia was probably unwarranted, but I couldn't afford to run any risks. Especially not after what I'd done shortly before departing from Hillwood.

It turns out an auditorium of people aren't amused when you threaten their lives and attempt a kidnapping.

Even at seventeen, I knew I was wrong. I knew I was wrong to try and force myself on Rhonda. To fool her into coming with me.

But I couldn't fight the nagging annoyance- the anger, really- that I'd been wronged. I couldn't afford to dwell on it, though. At least, not at this moment.

Before classes began, I ran into Phoebe and Helga again. We'd gotten to chatting and came to the agreement I should be taken out on the town. To "familiarize" myself with Hillwood. It made me want to laugh.

Even living half my life away from this place, I'd bet I still knew it best. Save the minor renovations. I know in my youth I'd made maps of the place more than once. Always for my insane little schemes. It's especially useful to have that information memorized when, say, breaking all of the animals out of the local zoo.

Or staging a kidnapping.

Failed.

I gritted my teeth. Why did Rhonda look so afraid? Did she _really_ believe I had a loaded-

"Brad!" It was Phoebe's small, gentle voice that prickled inside my ear. Even when she was yelling she was diminutive. I turned toward the source. I was a little surprised when I didn't see Helga attached to her at the hip, as per usual.

"Yo. Where's Helga? Weren't we all going to hang out?"

"That's what I thought." She shrugged, rubbing her arm. "I guess she made other plans at the last second, though. With Arnold. You probably haven't met him yet."

Ha.

"No, I don't think I have." I lied, fighting the grin that threatened to surface. "Are they an item?" My question nearly made her leap out of her sweater.

"W- well, I- I'm not at liberty to discuss... What I mean is-" She made me laugh. A sincere, soft laugh. I didn't remember her being so nervous, but I found it endearing. Truth be told, Phoebe could give Rhonda a run for her money in her own way.

"I got'cha. Sworn to a vow of silence?" I grinned to ease her skittishness.

"Something like that." Her face reddened. "Helga isn't, well. She's not very open to people knowing about her private affairs."

"It seems like a relationship would sort of be public knowledge. Are they like secret lovers or something?"

"W- well, no." She stammered again. "But you are the new kid. And Helga's a bit touchy, so I figured I'd best err on the side of caution." She had a valid point there. Especially considering I DID know how Helga could be. Especially in relation to Arnold.

"So, does this mean you and I will be deprived of Helga's company?" Her already crimson face flushed a shade darker.

"Well, I mean. If you still wanted to, I don't know. Tour the town. I could be your escort." Everything she did tested my restraint. I wasn't sure how long I could resist another fit of laughter. From her shy mannerisms to her unusual formality. Even down to how she shifted her weight and fidgeted nervously. I never knew this side of Phoebe, and I cursed myself I hadn't befriended her earlier on.

"I'd love to go out with you tonight, Phoebe." She squeaked into her hands, which were partially covered by the long black sweatshirt she wore.

"Stop!" I couldn't conceal my grin. "You're really testing me right now, you know?" I lightly punched her petit shoulder. Anxious even my play-strength might injure her fragile little body. But she seemed unfazed, and still had her mouth cupped in her hands.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" But she was laughing too. I couldn't tell if it was genuine, nervous, or if she was just mirroring me. Maybe all of the above.

"If I didn't know any better, Phoebe," I craned down to her level, feeling especially playful. "I'd say someone has a crush."

"B-B-Brad-"

"Haha. Just kiddin'." I lightly brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead, still grinning at her. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was the first time in a while- maybe ever- that I felt totally at peace around someone. She wasn't a simple girl by any stretch, but she seemed easy to read. Very honest. It was refreshing. Especially compared to all the guarded, cynical assholes I was usually around in private school.

I thought she might say something after I'd drifted into my own world, but I was greeted only by her studious, warm stare. Only one hand lingered near her mouth, as if prepared to drop or cover it again. Her fingers gently caressed the edge of her chin. Her other hand ran through her shoulder-length black hair thoughtfully, which she'd pulled the bulk of to one side of her head. It reminded me of a child being pacified with a blanket.

"Uh, did I go too far?" I was a little concerned by her silence. My voice seemed to stir her from her own trance, and that blush resurfaced.

"Uh, no. No. Not at all. Sorry. I'm just not always sure what to say. I can be just a tad awkward. My apologies." She nibbled just a tad at the frayed edge of her sweatshirt. Another trait I found endearing.

"It's cool." I tried to cut the tension with another smile. "When I was younger, I was the epitome of awkward. Trust me. Anything you do can't be worse than anything I did." There was something sharp in her eye that I didn't quite trust, and it only faintly occurred to me divulging even vague details could be disastrous.

"A guy like you? Awkward? I don't buy it." She crossed her arms incredulously. If only she knew. While I wanted to spill to ease her nerves, I also knew I had to speak in generalities.

"You'd be surprised. Good looks aren't a free pass for good social skills. You ought'a know, hot stuff." I tossed in some playful flirting to distract her. I was pleased by her flustered, unimpressed expression. It seemed to have the effect I was hoping for. I doubted she'd try to dig anymore. At least, not anytime soon.

"Har-har. You know, you don't have to tease me about my appearance. I'm acutely aware I'm not, well." Her mouth shrank into a thin line. It didn't seem she intended to finish her sentence, but I got the message. I should have been more cognizant of potential self-esteem issues. I'd obviously struck a raw nerve.

"Hey, I didn't mean-"

"I know," she huffed out in a hot, quick breath before instantly brightening. "No sweat. We're cool." Her smile was infectious, but I wasn't quite eased.

"Sorry." I muttered it quickly, before she could interject again. I also didn't want to linger too long on the one sour note of this otherwise harmonious conversation.

"Well, hey," she grinned mischievously and closed the gap between us. In that brief instant, the unexpected shift in character frightened me. "You can make it up to me on our "date" tonight."

"I- I never said it was a date." Great, now I was the one stammering and on the defensive. She was more dangerous than I anticipated. I'd be making a mental note not to underestimate her.

"No, but you said you'd love to go out with me tonight. Sounds suspect to me. Brad, are you the one blushing now?" Her child-like fist playfully socked my shoulder just as I'd done to her only moments ago.

"Where'd this sudden burst of courage come from?" Truth be told, I was genuinely curious. The last thing I expected was for her to have me reeling. And my face was just a touch warm.

"We're wasting daylight, Brad." Her diminutive hand took mine with a quiet urgency. She was leading me toward the nearest exist of the school. She was so small it felt like being led around by a child.

"Someone might have a crush." I heard her say just under her breath.


	14. Chapter 14

**The Phantom of the Opera**

 **Eight Years Prior**

It was the dizzying height of my madness.

P.S. 118, and more specifically, Mr. Simmons was arranging a play. "Phantom of the Opera". It was the first I'd heard of it. And even today I desperately wish I hadn't. The title alone sparked enough interest for me to research it myself.

Everything about the Phantom resonated with me. His tortured genius. His mysterious nature. And, naturally, his infatuation with Christine. It perfectly paralleled my predicament with Rhonda. I was the outcast just as the Phantom was. Shunned andridiculed. I sympathized with his struggle and his drive.

Naturally, I tried out for the part.

And I was cast. But no, not as the Phantom. Once again, Simmons made it clear he had it out for me in one way or another. Or so I had thought in my fevered delusions.

I was Raoul.

 _Harold_ was the Phantom.

I nearly lost it right there in the auditorium when I read the casting sheet. I nearly took it upon myself to hunt Harold down and make sure he got into an accident. Injustice after injustice.

Christine Daae? Rhonda, of course. Of course it had to be Rhonda.

On the one hand, you might tell me, I should have considered myself lucky. Raoul gets Christine, right? Meaning I'd get Rhonda. I'd get to act alongside her. To pretend, even for a fleeting few moments, that we loved each other.

But no! Raoul and Christine were a perversion of justice. The Phantom was wronged by the world just as I had been. Raoul was a nobody. A nobody who didn't know love. The Phantom and Christine were destined. And the cruelest injustice of all was that _Harold_ had somehow been extended the honor of playing the role of the Phantom. A courtesy of Simmons to help his confidence. But that act of good will spurned me.

I would be the Phantom.

I wouldn't play the part.

I would BE the Phantom...

"In sleep he sang to me..." Her voice. An angelic, euphonious sound. The stage filled with a fog and the lights illuminated some places and switched off in others. "That voice which calls to me, and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find-" My cue. Unbeknownst to everyone.

"The PHANTOM! Of the Opera is there! Inside my mind!" My voice bellowed through the auditorium. Harold and Rhonda looked around the stage in confusion.

I cut three ropes from up on the catwalk above the stage. Bags of sand, probably thirty pounds each, plummeted below. Each as loud as a gunshot. Fine sand exploded everywhere, adding a fog to what fake mist was already being generated.

The audience screamed in unison. Some hurried for the exits, and others scrambled toward the stage.

It was a delight. Euphoric, even. The power I felt. To see masses of people, maybe a hundred, truly terrified of what I could do was a rush.

For good measure, I sent a light careening below before descending by rope myself. Another explosion and a crunch of metal.

"You will CURSE the day you did not do! All that the PHANTOM asked! Of! You!" I sang. The lyrics having little bearing on the situation, other than the fact I was terrorizing the crowd. I wore what I was able to stitch up with my limited sewing skills and what I could fashion from bargain bin Halloween costumes. But it was passable. I looked like the Phantom. Truthfully, I don't think I'd have been taken seriously without the theatrics. And especially not without

"Is that a-"

"Oh my God!"

I waved it around proudly. It wasn't real. But just as Erik had been, I, too, was an illusionist that evening.

The gun.

A painted squirtgun.

But a gun to the audience.

It was now that nearly all of them began to scramble for the exits. Harold was nowhere to be found. Coward. And Rhonda, sweet Rhonda, was flat on her butt. Mortified by what I had just done and terrified of what I might do next. She looked truly heavenly in her white, flowing dress. Her pale chest rose and fell like a frightened little lark. My lark.

I expected the audience to fear me. I intended it. But why was Rhonda so fearful? Didn't she understand?

"Curly," her voice was hardly a whimper. I descended from the rope and fell the last few feet to the stage. A crunch of glass and sand beneath my dress shoes. A flip of my cape, and a wave of my vacant hand, extended to my angel of music.

"My darling Christine."


	15. Chapter 15

Rhonda said nothing. Even through the veil of fake mist and dust, I could see her trembling. Tears in her eyes. I could see it. I could sense her fear. And yet...

The elation was too much. The grandeur was too much. The fear of the crowd. The triumph at my success. The POWER!

Even so, there were still villains. Simmons and Wartz were rounding each side of the stage.

"So be it!" I cried, knowing they intended to thwart me. "Let it be war upon you both!" Reaching into my jacket lining, I pulled out a couple of small, handmade devices. I had to make due, again, with what limited supplies I had at home. But I figured they'd be enough. A handful or two of do-it-yourself smoke bombs. Not meant to harm, but simply distract.

I threw three or four at Wartz' feet and another couple just at the wall toward Simmons opposite of me.

"What in blazes!" Wartz gasped as they exploded, creating an instant, dense fog. Both were enveloped by it.

"Curly!" It was Simmons choking through the smog. Unknown to both of them, I added a little extra something to the concoction. A little capsaicin to blind them for a brief period of time. Just long enough to allow me to escape with Rhonda.

"Now, Rhon- AGH!" My arm was in a vice. A squeezing, twisting pain. Burning. I turned toward the source of my agony, half expecting to see Harold, but it wasn't Harold.

It was Rhonda herself.

"Drop it, Curly!" She commanded through tears. Desperately trying to get the gun away from me.

"Rhonda! What are you doing? It was all a distraction! Surely- you know that!" I labored to breathe and she dug her elbow into my back. Trying to leverage my arm with her height and weight.

"Give it to me!" She shrieked. My arm was going numb.

"Argh! Damn it! Rhonda! You'll regret this! Even if it's you! I won't forgive you!" I slapped the auditorium stage as some feeble effort to get her to release me.

The surface of the stage was slick with sand. The leverage she had on me brought me to my knees. Odd pieces of glass pricked my kneecaps and hand, but it paled in comparison to whatever gymnastics she was putting my arm through.

Why was she trying so hard? She knew. She HAD to have known? Did she really think... Did she really believe I was dangerous enough to kill?

Finally, she wrestled the gun from my hand. And it was as if all at once the tension was sucked out of the room. Not because a threat had been neutralized, but because she realized, in that moment, what I thought she'd known from the start.

The gun was a fake.

She released me and I was finally allowed to stand.

The look in her eyes.

They were wet, dark things. Not the eyes I'd grown to know and love. They weren't even filled with the fiery anger to which I'd grown so used to. Hateful, but full of life and vitality. Even her glare could make my heart flutter.

There was nothing there. Vacant. Dead. No anger. No nothing. Not even the smallest shred of feeling. As if she were staring right through me.

I had the sickening realization she'd truly lost hope for me. It was the deepest disappointment. My greatest act of love was the very thing that severed us.

Oh no.

"You can't tell me you didn't know... That it was a fake. You know it was all so I could get you out of here." I tried to reason with her while massaging my damaged arm.

"It was a distraction for them."

Oh no.

No words from her. I could feel the panic and dread rising in my stomach.

"You knew that. Rhonda, you knew it. And if you didn't, then get mad. You must be mad."

She just stared. That hollow, sick stare. Her wet, dead eyes. I couldn't bear it. Anything was better than this. Anger was better than her wet, naked stare.

Oh no.

"Rhond-agh!" A thick, warm boa constrictor around my neck. Hairy. With the faint smell of stale cologne.

It was Wartz. I was being headlocked.

"F- ugh!"

no no no

Curtains.


End file.
